Holding the Universe
by AsianScaper
Summary: Exploring the emotions within Episodes II-IV.
1. What's in a Name?

**Title:** _What's in a Name?_   
**Author:** AsianScaper   
**Disclaimer:** Star Wars belongs to George Lucas.   
**Rating:** G   
**Category:** Drama/Angst/Romance   
**Spoilers:** None   
**Feedback:** Friends, enemies: Send your comments or constructive criticism to asianscaper@edsamail.com.ph. Advice is highly sought after!   
**Summary:** A woman representative, swollen with child, endeavors to talk with the newly risen Dark Lord of the Sith.   
**Archiving:** Just email me the URL to allow me a peek.   
**Dedication:** To my family, to God, and to my friends.   
**Author's Note:** Another vile experiment on my writing style. Tell me what you think! 

__________

  
**Part I.**

The dress wore different garments, chased by the moon and stolen by day that as it fell from the many-colored skies it was a shower of meteors bled from the shadow of the planets. Anakin Skywalker had never seen ships fall as wraiths upon the living do. The heat cast sweat-shadows upon his arms and neck, and face; humanity's face marked by gashes and still bleeding wounds. 

This third planet from the sun, once lush and serene, was suddenly moaning. 

Jes'Dameer was afire with sorrow, anger, and desolateness so appealing that he who stood alone on the hillock marveled at the sight. His curiosity was born by his own queer upbringing, when all the advice he truly sought was the advice filtered by his own, limited being. Listening was never an art for him. It was a burden for the dead, when they lay quiet from the decay of their own lips. 

His mechanical hand fell forsaken beside him, quiet, unmoving, golden yet useless, as a king's touch had been when he craved the world. The quakes had begun to wrench Anakin's fingers from him and oftentimes, he did not feel the hand that was not there. He merely knew its existence because he could see. 

A pitiful, strange, alluring thing…the unnaturalness. 

And yet…a hand is a hand is a hand. The thought was lodged into him and he spoke it aloud, with barely recognizable kindness. There was no fault, no weakness, in bidding oneself good-bye. 

"A hand…is a hand…is a hand." And the thunder rolled like great vessels bequeathed with the power of height. 

Stars fell. 

Anakin blinked. 

It began raining. The young man shook the liquid from his mantle and bringing the hood towards his face, was lost to the warmth beneath. Tearful droplets hung gently on his eyelids, memories of long ago, exploiting his actions as he wiped his eyes. For he never wiped away his tears or nature's tears. Gently, gently, they muttered to his lids. Where was the water? 

Nonono. The real water, they said to him. The one that heralded joy, anguish, defeat? He could not remember and he frowned. 

Rain's fingers traced the line of his cheeks for he had no weather of his own to cry with. How could they miss his tears so much? 

_Another question, young one._

Where was the yellow light? Ah, the light of the bees; the light which crossed the spectrum to gift any with the sight of honey. Anakin looked up and found only lightning and clouds. Just noise and black light and noise. There was only the bitter gall in his throat and the emptiness that gnawed within his chest like a beast wandering into the entrails of its prey. 

_The sun shine on thee, and keep thee, and give thee peace._

He suddenly felt ill. To him, the sun was missing. It hid. It delivered. Yet it hid! 

His laugh, burgeoning like iron petals from his throat, was shrill and hoarse, as if it were dragged with chains from his heart, to his tongue, and then to his lips. As if rust was sprinkled unto it as onion fruits were used to buy tears. He laughed more often now, unfortunate laughter born from the musings of the crow! For what else could a man do but chortle at his fate and possess it? He was mad. He knew. And he was not a man. 

_The darkness embrace thee, and keep thee, and give thee peace._

It is done. The deed is done. Fate calls. 

"Commander," he said. "Send for the transport. We leave for Sassanoth." 

"Yes, Lord Vader." 

The armored figure behind him trudged on to his shuttle, leaving footprints in sand. With eyes already blind, Anakin turned from the sight of ships hailing from the heavens, as if the phantom vision would leave when he did. But the noise! The terrible, ceaseless noise! 

The earth trembled beneath him as another Jes'Dameer ship full of survivors careened to the mounts below and dismembered its own parts with the power of its fall. 

It was not the human hand, which clenched into a fist. It was the machinated one, the one that gave him use of something that never was. Power glinted across his dark eyes. Hunger was ever present there. A blundering thing that drowned in the soup of greed. Power. 

_I will not fail. Never…never…never…_

He laughed once more. 

He was mad. He knew. 

_For a time. For a time. Only in the beginning, Skywalker. Only in the beginning._

*** 

**Part II.**

"Jes'Dameer has fallen, Senator." 

Her name slept silent on the man's lips for she had none. Her children would never know the fruit of her identity. But that was what she wanted and fallen from the world of sound was her person. Sitting across the dais where the fellow begged audience, she was a mantle from the pins and needles of a sad legacy. Dark and only dark hid beneath the wrinkled skin of her frown. All else, including her eyes, were bright and dead. 

"What does this…Dark Lord want?" she asked. That name, too, was foreign on her tongue. What was in a name? She sighed and there within that breath, Death fled from her dullness. She would not surrender to the blight of names, the joy of names, the power of names. 

_I cannot fail._

"We have known their plan, Senator. Yet Jes'Dameer has fallen and the Dark Lord of the Sith will stop at nothing. They have already destroyed the academies of Jedi thought in the system of Latriea. And the borders of Manisuli and Reirenthafir…" 

"Stop." She stood from her bench, flanked by the leaders of the Alderaan homeworld. "I will meet with this Dark Lord of the Sith." 

The hall rose into a cacophony and white robes mingled with white robes, their fists thrust into the air, begging the sky's approval. Pandemonium. The devil's temptress. It was easy to lose oneself in noise, inside the hellfire of a thousand tongues, a thousand minds. There, only to gain honor from the conflicts of intellect. She raised her hand and in a voice conceived from the arches of palaces, exclaimed, "Only for the beginning, gentlemen! Only for the beginning!" 

The gong of her strength clouded all vision and the hall was resplendent with her voice. It was enough. The devilry subsided and their eyes were upon her. Tails vanished behind the pillars of the hall and padded feet dashed for exits, that the marble would not burn their feet. 

Another sigh echoed tiredly within the convenience of her soul. She felt so old. Too old. 

"This is only the beginning," she said, too quietly for them to hear that they leaned towards her, both craving her words and more so, her vivacity. 

"Pardon, Senator. You had something to say?" one asked. 

Her smile was kind, though somewhat white with rage. "First we talk. There's civility left in us, I should think. We cannot merely react. Act first." 

The child had spoken and she was complete. The elders of the court blinked, seemingly jerked from their realities to the one she was proposing to consecrate. Respect hung heavily in the room and she was suddenly afraid. They spent their energies on the trust they dropped coins for, in her box of endeavors. Too much. But the weight was familiar and she carved it silently, into a staff she could lean on. 

The perpetual light cradled her, to comfort her, treading down the corridors, from the pillars. 

"Very well, Senator," the eldest said. "We will arrange a transport to rendezvous with the Dark Lord's Star Destroyer in Sassanoth. We insist that you take an honor guard, however." 

"You may insist on whatever you wish. Just not on retaliation. Not yet." 

"Of course. We will do as you say for it seems the wisest course." She chuckled gently, remembering the saucer gazes of little boys and girls. They were so much like children without the benefit of a gentle parent. 

_What then, if it proves the opposite?_

Another chortle. Oh yes. They were blind in their following, yet wise in their blindness. 

She would lead them. 

A man had asked it of her once, as these men did. Just one man with the power of a strong gaze, built like a gale of sorrow and happiness. One that swirled to her own music and gave her roses for summer, daisies for autumn, bright orchids for winter. Then for spring, his rich bouquets were the fountain kisses of endless joy bestowed like sweets upon her lips. One that he shared generously. One that did not hide his dark, brooding sadness, his dancing fear. For he tried to hide it so often. 

And she was not there when he decided to show it to the world. 

She closed her eyes at the memory and names swirled within her sight, like ashen snow in a festering squall. 

A lightsaber, she could remember. The handle worn from use, caressed by strong fingers that engulfed her own. The great noise of his cape against the hurricane outside, his boots sauntering by the wind-swept ground. _Crunch, crunch._ A percussion of farewells. 

Wind blew in gusts, the singer of a song choked by sobs. 

_When the widow weeps, what then, do you see?_

Was that a ballad? From a galaxy far, far away? It was closer to her vicinity now, for she could hear it amidst the silence of the hall, amidst the great expectation of men. Her expression faltered slightly. She was but a girl, in a galaxy with a song transported through the star-spangled sky for her sake. 

Courage was always there when she chose to speak. It came, with a noose to deem her worthy of sacrifice. 

"He will come to Kil Niran of Sassanoth and I shall meet him then, when he asks for our surrender." 

None dared argue. They knew the value of names and the Dark Lord of the Sith had a name. She knew. 

***

**Part III.**

"They have a representative, my Lord, awaiting you." 

Anakin relied on the slight heaving of his chest, on the nervous set of his teeth, on the quivering sweat dropping from his forehead like cautious, cold snakes to know that this officer was afraid. The bridge of a Star Destroyer was a lonely place, despite the many creatures mastering its vile movements. Anakin rested on the most secluded stead, where none dared speak to him. He brooded. He exuded power. 

Anakin watched the officer, his hood seeking phantoms within the room. He wore gloves of black now, denying his own eyes the nature he once was. A man. But he was not a man. Machinery charged his humanity with corruption. 

"Do you have a name, Lieutenant?" he asked, patiently, clenching his fists as a hint of his rising anger. 

"My Lord?" he stumbled. 

"A name. Does this representative have a name?" 

"She did not give one, sir." 

"'She'?" Vader growled. The officer cringed, his uniform moist with fear and anticipation. "A woman?" The flash of raven black hair crowded his senses and then, the smell of flowers…daisies. Was it autumn in Naboo? Another sweet scent. He was suddenly aware of thoughts that never once in five months, creased the straight path his mind had set. 

He cursed beneath his hood. There were scars on his face, and each scar was the stem of a bud shouting for freedom, for power. Power! He grinned under the cowl, knowing that the world would not see the meaningful sadness there, the seething will of anguish where the lips bent to lines of bright recollections. 

He could now smell sunshine, though could not see it, and it warmed his skin. His skin was so awfully cold at times, and he marveled at the sudden heat. One he had not felt since the sky fell in Jes'Dameer. 

He could now feel the hand, which was not a hand; it moved to the singular beauty of a face he once knew. Once loved. But… 

A face. 

He could not remember the intricate loveliness to that face. And it angered him. 

There was only…emptiness. 

He stood from the dark throne and watching the stars outside, was aware of a small ship docking into the Star Destroyer he commanded. A strong presence as all of the senators had. He could feel the lives within, throbbing, insistent, unlike his. His cape trembled as he quickly walked the steps to the audience room. The boots clicked heavily on the floor, reminding him of his own presence, of his untimely surrender to death., when good abandoned him. Or was it…the other way around? The easy way around? He preferred to ignore his thoughts and then, another emotion was lost to him. 

He could not feel his hand again, as often as it always was numb. How horrid it was. He had touched with that hand and the sensations it owned were gone with it. A pity. A pity he could not remember that face and the softness it once must have felt. Pity. Pity. 

Pity that the ship was as dark as the clothing he wore. The representative would have no light for a day. 

***

**Part IV.**

She sat confidently as oft she did, a demure stature of faith in both the meanderings of humankind, and the fellowship she now partook in. She did not expect this to be a fruitful conversation, nor intended it to be. The Dark Lord of the Sith had only one nature, one dipped in darkness. The body this lord must have had would graze in flesh's denial while he would stare at a her, for she too, had aged. Yet not within this drooping hood she took to wearing. The dark moon of her face would provide naught and expression bare. Vigor had abandoned her as quickly as this lord had become a lord. 

She did not look forward to the meeting and it seemed her own cowl was worthy of the pensive interior of this powerful vessel. Her guards were left on the small vessel supplied to her by her allies; there to bide their time. They could escape that way, if things went awry. Now, she felt more alone than ever she had felt. 

But the life within her womb gave her peace and she wondered why she had taken this risk. 

When the doors slid open, she saw the inkling of an answer in that dark, ethereal gaze from beneath ore and metal. 

The power in names. The joy in names. The melancholy in calling him by his name! She dared not. Would not. She could hear the silent rip of her innards at the sight of this Sith Lord. 

"Welcome, Senator," the voice said, quietly, unintrusive like a cat prodding the dead mouse. "We have much to discuss." 

The shadow of a voice fell into the chimes of familiarity. Oddly, the face was lost to her, even as her mind skimmed through a vast aggregate of pictures she thought she had already lost. When he left. The images were…empty, oddly empty, when she caught a gaze not unlike the dull, gray quality of her own. 

This lord's face was hidden in a helmet carved from an image of indifference. Dark hollows reflected ebony metal for his eyes, cold and unforgiving. The brow above it curved somewhat…to anguish? Perhaps not. Judging was a fine thread. She would not walk it. Nonetheless, his was a body was much like her own, though attached to contraptions achieved only by minds seeking immortality. It made her quiver. When had this begun? Decay delayed that a man may relish it? 

"What are your terms?" she asked. 

When she spoke, the dark lord revealed studied hesitance. It served as a charm. A slight opening in conscience. But he seemed to fight it with a clenched fist. He went onward to the dais where he sat above her own seat. 

His shoulders had a familiar set, a mighty set, one that was not used to defeat or to the cries of constant disgrace. Honor was there, valor was there, evil was there. Though she felt there was good to him, for skin glanced beneath an opening to his arm and another flashed golden. 

Like a hand she had once touched. One that the owner could not feel as he wanted it to feel. That picture, too, was met with the blurred sight of someone tearful enough to see only light and its components of stars. Oh, pity! 

"Unconditional surrender, Senator," he hissed. 

His tone was deep and thoughtful. A flight of intermediate fancy, one that stole authority and waved it like the wand. 

"Unacceptable," she said, with as much rancor as her delicate throat allowed. 

He breathed through that helmet with a noise that frightened and intrigued her. What was it that kept this corpse alive? 

"Why then did you come?" he asked in lilting, unlit tones. It rose slightly, as if wrath sulked about the edges of his ebony disguise. 

"I've come like a lamb to the slaughter, Lord Vader." She felt heavy with grief, at the sound of that name. It was a firm intonation, with sharp clicks to the tongue. Why did she come? "But we are a versatile people and despite Palpatine's betrayal…" 

"You did not answer my question, Senator." 

No meeting with fate was ever gentle. "To ask you about the death of three billion lives." 

The Dark Lord of the Sith laughed. "Why? What life do you carry that you should care so much?" His mockery slid off her façade like oil on water. 

"One, dark lord. Only one and two more to your name; the defense found in a name." 

The hum of his machinery could be heard, the halting music of his soul, for she was sure this lord had one. 

The silence was deafening and her hand shot up from her sides to her swollen abdomen. She felt movement there, the beginning of the beginning and lives more intent than the adults surrounding them. 

And this, a beginning as well. 

A murder of billions and here she was, the delegate of two. Why had she come? -her mind screamed at her. She begged the very universe, the very fates, to tell her why she had come. And memories flashed before her eyes. The trees bright in autumn, their leaves falling like ash from volcanoes of red and orange, the laughter of a man. A man. His eyes straying to the beauty around him, forgetting his hungry reality. 

More free, more powerful than ever, when he walked by her side in a grin that split his cheeks to the folds of gaiety. 

"A bright destiny, this," the lord whispered. "Tell me, Senator, what's in a name?" A query. A test. 

She cocked her head forward. The embroidered edge of her cowl provided little comfort, and small division from the reek and aura of decay. It fell forward, bringing more of her expression to shade. "A smile, a tear, a mere whisper of letters, symbols, that show you a man's worth," were her words. 

"Well then, I have none, Senator," he answered in turn. "Yet you should give your child a name. For a name's worth is more than any deed done by my hand. And I have only one to bide my time with. Go now. Before my heart flees with the darkness I've harbored." He stood quickly, his cape floundering like a drowning animal, his footsteps as frail as a man's dancing on a rickety stage. 

"Then it is done. The deed is done. Fate calls." He stopped at her words and turning, seemed to weep beneath that wretched mask. 

She stood alongside him. And then, in that strange moment when she took her place by the dark lord's side... 

_When the widow weeps, what then, do you see?_ Why were there images? 

The dark lord walked her to the door and the black within black of his cape swirled. A confused array of colors? The same she had taken for granted on autumns when a man would take her by her waist and spin her around, like a carousel of hope. Confusion plagued her. 

"Anakin..." she muttered gently, his name cradled on her tongue as dew is held dear by leaves. 

The Sith Lord seemed to turn. To want to turn. But did not. For he was not a man. 

What was in a name? 

He had never asked for hers. In a queer flight of knowing, she knew that his ignorance was a healthy one. For now. Only for the beginning. 

_Only in the beginning._

  
  
  
For the children were safe. 

__________ 

**-The End-**


	2. Fire and Ice

**Title:** _Fire and Ice_   
**Author:** AsianScaper   
**Disclaimer:** Star Wars belongs to George Lucas.   
**Rating:** G   
**Category:** Drama   
**Spoilers:** None   
**Feedback:** Friends, enemies: Send your comments or constructive criticism to asianscaper@edsamail.com.ph. Advice is highly sought after!   
**Summary:** Sequel to 'What's in a Name?". The council convenes and the Rebellion is formed. Obi-wan Kenobi seeks to console his Padawan's wife and finds his own forgiveness in her kindness.   
**Archiving:** Just email me the URL to allow me a peek.   
**Dedication:** To Alison, who insisted on a sequel and eventually inspired it.   
**Author's Note:** Another vile experiment on my writing style. Tell me what you think! 

__________

  
**Part V.**

"If we walk the fine thread, Senator, and rescue the Jedi in Jes'Dameer…"one miscreant said, in tones as silver and tinkling as a stream about to break into flood. 

"Rescue?" another villain protested, his own shimmering slightly with rain and the beginnings of great thunder. "There is nobody left alive!" 

"If we came near Sassanoth or any system thereafter, we would be killed." 

"Oh, by shade and light," the Alderaan representative exclaimed. "Be not misconstrued! This is a noble court! Made by people! Do keep your musings and alter noise! Silence!" 

They did tamper with the rising bedlam and Padmé was grateful. Beginning to think that they all seemed against her ruminations, she had lost hope of ever getting their attention again. 

"Thank you, Senator," she told the Alderaan. 

The Alderaan bowed respectfully, for she was a woman as well, and in league with the praise they bestowed upon the youngest of them. "Peace, my lady, is a hard thing to acquire these days," she whispered tiredly, though with a witless smile. In it, strength was apparent, and generous. Padmé gratefully accepted all that the other had to give. 

Names were seemingly non-existent here. For what was in a name? Nobility, a man's worth, she had said. What fairy tales had she woven from one, very important question? As men do, she had tried too often and too much for a name. This alliance was another, the people in it thrown into a bowl mixed by the new enemy. 

Sighing, as often she did, she stood once more, her dress as effervescent as she was ashen. No light left her eyes, only the falling colors of brown interspersed with black; aridity caused by night. 

"What did this Darth Vader have to say?" a man in garments of the lowly peasant said. 

Kez Kathar was a diplomat from Amistal, the vanguard planet, which had fallen to ruin. He did not care that his robes did not bear the colors of coin and was admired for it. It was the man beside him who first agreed vigorously, in a loud, vagrant voice. 

Padmé could barely keep the bile from her throat. She was getting too delicate for these matters. Perseverance, though, never made her yield. 

A murmur of agreement rose in a dangerous tide and even then, the slight gurgle of worry was apparent in the air. Humming, Padmé thought. The same when a cannon charged itself for bereavement. 

The regally dressed leader of Higdain, in his fur cape and glittering emeralds, was seated beside the Amistal ambassador. He tugged self-consciously at his coat collar, for he was dressed in peacock hues. 

"We would like to hear of Vader's opinion, his plans, Senator," the man said disparagingly. 

Padmé waved the rich garments of Naboo that they would see her fist revealed from under the many pleated coats. 

"He is bent in conquering," she started, her tone confident though tinged with injury. Her meeting with the Sith Lord did nothing to allay her fears or her heart. There was something peculiar about this villain; not that he bent the Force around him to frightful casts, but that he bent and waved his shoulders like…like… "He was able to destroy the contingent in Dathween." 

"And is there news of the young Anakin?" someone endeavored to say. 

Padmé's eyes darted to the speaker yet she could not find the one who spoke. Too many mouths were moving now. 

"He is lost, it seems. Presumed dead," the person beside her said and in seeing her face, stumbled precociously, "Though they have not found his body. He may still be alive." 

The council had an irreverent way of telling her how misplaced her love was. She ignored it and was, by far, ignored in turn. 

Padmé could feel her face turn to rock and her frown as ruthless as when her people were first attacked by their foe. She did not respond but her anger made each man in turn, delay his speech. She commanded silence with the fell contemplation of her grimace. Young as she was, she was respected beyond even the eldest of the cluster. She did not have to ask quiet of them. Her gaze was thankful, though harsh when all remarks ended where she began. 

"The young Padawan will be well," she whispered, half to herself. "As for the Dark Lord of the Sith, his new advent will be a bloody and pitiless one. You cannot rely on him for rebate on any of our losses. We must fight." 

"A New Rebellion then," old Grathus said, his figure seated on a chair, his long white hair dropping ivory tresses over his shoulders and face. A cane protruded from his side and he used it verily to bring himself up. 

The hall once more rose into confusion but old Grathus took his cane and with strength he seemed not to have, rammed it against the marble floor. His wrinkled skin shook with barely hidden anger. 

Once. 

The clamor did not cease but one or two, who knew the old Grathus in other days, stood quiet. They, too, had grays on their hairs and if their species did not call for fur upon one's head, their appendages were lost to decrepitude. 

Twice. 

Younger minds held the reigns of the council, but the few who knew wit and lance to be different things, held their peace. 

As Grathus raised it for yet another beating, the last senator had spoken his turn. Silence was given to Grathus but many held their seats as if ready to speak again. 

"What else would you call it?" the old man demanded, his wrath bouncing off the walls like spangled wreaths of diamond showers. 

It was a strong voice; a youthful warrior once dwelled there and now had gone to the dust of wintry things. His forgotten guise lay within the musings of his cant. He addressed all of them then, in a voice once made for bigger halls. 

"Palpatine endures to call himself the Emperor and has resorted far from light. If the galaxy has fled from good and gone to his side for fear of hurt, then we rebel against his might. We must force ourselves to admit," he continued rather indecently, "That we have not the resources nor the manpower to win against this greater, more powerful enemy. We will have to settle for more…covert ways." 

Rheumy eyes stared insistently beneath white, bushy brows and his beard moved by the mouth beneath. An aide helped him recover and seated him gently on his chair. Waving his hand in a gesture of indifference, he said, "That is all, Senator. Men and women of this court, I beg for you to consider." He had a doddery, self-deprecating smile, one that reflected his lethargy for the obstinate habits of men. 

For all the warring deities within their heads, nobody spoke. Their eyes settled on the youngest of their council, who by now, was showing the glowing yet somber face of one, who would give birth in little more than a month's time. Her usual, pinkish shine was gone, replaced instead, by the exhausted mask of a woman too old to make do with things she did not have. 

"We…will give a name, Senator Grathus." 

That brought a cold, relentless shiver down her spine. Names, names. The power in names! The hall was silent and they watched her, not with judgement, but with real expectation. She knew that whatever words sprouted through her mouth, they would accept, whole-heartedly. 

The old man inclined his head in gratitude at the younger lady. "Be that as it may, we have given a noble appellation to our cause and should obtain inspiration from it." 

"Thank you, Senator Grathus," Padmé said. She addressed the forum of justice with a weary voice. "If it sits well with all of you, the council will convene in Ethmun two days from now. We have discussed enough. The business in Jes'Dameer will lie untouched for now." 

They fell into a ceaseless whir as leaving, they persisted on other matters that did not lie within the hall. Padmé sighed heavily and one of her handmaidens took her arm as she felt herself sink into her chair. 

"My lady, you need your rest," her handmaid murmured quietly, lulling the senator into thoughts of succor that did nothing to ease her fatigue. "Come, we will take you to your quarters." 

*** 

**Part VI.**

Obi-wan Kenobi waited patiently in one of the many halls of Leithnan. It was called the Red City, not for the perpetual orange and scarlet hues of the sky or for the great fire trees mingling with the green of its thoroughfares. Instead, the large, marble pillars rode the name as did foyers long dipped in the red mountains of the planet. 

The color did not ease him; it swayed too much towards death's tinge. And he felt ill at heart. The council was to convene in Ethmun to discuss their many plans and Obi-wan's gut danced, unsettled, at the choice. Ethmun was conveniently unguarded, that the Emperor's eye would not settle upon it while the council conferred. 

His robes settled like dew on the marble bench that he chose to honor with his presence. They rustled gently by a warm, benign breeze. Obi-wan had little of those then. A hand reached for his temple to supply thought to his head. He was long tired and bereft of sleep. 

Standing, he scratched his beard and buried his fingers in his hair in frustration. "This all does not stay well with me," he muttered to himself. 

"And it does not with me," a soft, tender voice said from behind a pillar. She was confident, it seemed, and he was grateful for the balance it gave his wavering intentions. 

The lady was flanked by her handmaidens and she seemed more affectionate of the swelled evidence of child. She greeted him with a smile and he greeted her with an embrace. He laughed delightfully, seeing her so young and yet…so immaculately old. He took her cheek and kissed it chastely. Holding her shoulders gently, he wondered at the elegant stand that managed to author dominion. Looking into her eyes, he caught the distant flicker of sadness. 

"It is good to see you again, Padmé," he said. Sincerity marked his voice, as did fondness. "Without you, the world was thrown into a blight." The joke did not go unnoticed. 

He basked in her laughter, but it seemed forced, like water from a jug long robbed of substance. There were few ladies who played the light in all the plays of his heart. This one stood close to his and held most of the lampshades. Feeling all relieved and forfeited of his own emotions, he embraced her again. 

"Obi-wan. I would thank you for everything. I haven't thanked you enough." Her voice came muffled from his robe. 

"No need, young lady. No need." He grinned for her sake, hoping that the bend to his lips would give her strength to do the same. "You must be tired." 

"I am. Though not enough to sit with you and exchange stories," she said. 

Obi-wan marveled at her. She seemed almost haggard with weights both from the physical universe and one that lay within her soul. Yet she persisted. Valiantly. "No, Senator. You must rest. I will go with you to Ethmun on a transport tomorrow. We shall talk then." 

"Very well, Master Kenobi." 

She smiled a weak smile and in it, he found the gentle curve of memories fonder than this. "Be well, my lady. Do not push yourself too far. We have much to look forward to." His eyes fell on her swollen belly and she placed a hand on his shoulder. 

He supported her thoroughly. She swam in states of distress because of his ignorance and he would gladly gain all knowledge to relieve her of pain. But the universe did not work as oft he would have wanted it to. The gloomy reality of it dared to put a thorn in his quip. The Jedi in him could not allow the hurt of one lady to diminish all that he had to do. As it should have been a long time ago, when the bidding of one Jedi should not have made him blind to sight. 

"I will ensure that all goes well." And he meant this in ways that stretched to the farthest of times. 

"With you beside me, I shall think of all things as such." The hand on his shoulder patted him gently. He smiled at the thought. The pregnant senator proved a whimsical scene when she comforted the Jedi. "I…give my condolences for the plight of your kin in Jes'Dameer." She did nothing to hide her sadness and in turn, he did nothing to hide his own. The smile melted. 

Swallowing a cry of dismay, he took her hand and kissed it. "My thanks, dear lady. I insist that you take your leave now and rest. Fare you well." 

He had committed so many mistakes; he was intent on mending them all. A young man both loved by them to start with. Though, he would not fall into the trap of thinking that he would be able to to it on his own. An old fault. One that caused too much tribulation. 

Oh, what folly! He shook his head as the younger senator walked slowly to the vestibule beyond, glancing at him, searching at his features for someone they once knew. The lost encounter in her eyes expunged all thought and he almost apologized. Yet she would ask him, whatever for? The student had chosen his own path. 

Watching her warmly until the tails of her dress disappeared behind a bend, his hand settled on the lighsaber by his side. Regret laced his movements and his hand withdrew quickly from the weapon. The responsibility almost claimed him for a plague. He would not allow it. 

Regret, yes. But never dwell, never ever. 

"If I had not been young or so naïve," he said aloud. He saved this one ridicule for himself. "If only…Oh, poor girl." 

Scratching his beard, he went on another way and waited for the dawn to end. 

*** 

**Part VII.**

The transport left early, and oddly enough, the universe laughed at him when Obi-wan strolled through the meadow to get to it. There were no visible structures now. Leithnan was a city lost to technology. Only the ancient beauty of something that tended to itself with nothing more than its own appendages hung like jewels on a nearby cliff. The nearest thing to a port in Leithnan was the Meadow of Tleilen Nul, and it swayed and breathed and mocked the red air around it with the vast, purple hue of palm-like grasses. 

His hand was structured to its huge bay of undulating plant life, and he felt the warm sets beneath, like soft weavings of a carpet as he walked. The leather boots of his office dug into the meadow, strangely allowing the color to seep to their tight, unauthored skins. Even the minced divides of crushed foliage left a favorable and aromatic scent. 

He knew the senator would have reveled at the sight, had something more beautiful not blinded her. 

_My Padawan. My dear, lost Padawan._

The thought shut him from the world and brought down his contrition like whips. He lashed himself gladly but did not allow the sneer of distress enter the transport as he stepped on the metal planks. 

There was something odd and disturbing about man-made expressions singeing the nature beneath. He could feel it, with the Force endowed on him, as the transport lifted from the ground. The earth sighed in relief and he smiled. Those little things gave him reason to laugh. 

The senator was seated, dressed in garbs more informal than the afternoon before. He studied her with an appreciative glance, giving her a chaste kiss on each cheek of which he was glad, for it enlivened him. How was it that this woman had not only the gift of a restful air that relaxed all troubles to naught but also a cordial manner despite her misfortune? 

He shared a few jests, in return for the light spirit she embedded on his shell. He would have been more generous, had it not been for the reserve in her and the strained disapproval at all things living. Knowing that the mood would not last long, though it would fester to the end, he shared stories of his adventures. He did not like to talk of dismal happenings when dismal thoughts already lessened the air between them. 

Yet somehow, the fates contrived to put them at the subject loathed to be dipped in. 

"What do you know of Darth Vader, Master Kenobi?" she asked. 

Obi-wan stared at her, knowing that even as he did so, he could not forever. He would have to answer. A lump threatened to make him mute and deaf but he fought the shame, and the sorrow, and the incredible, tortuous regret. 

"That he is young. Once a Jedi and a very strong one." Ah, his mind said, what are you up to Obi-wan? Can you not sear all unfounded wanderings through conversation and be done with it? 

She spared him with a curt, "I walked with Anakin the other day." 

"Pardon, my lady?" he stammered. 

His tongue proved unworthy. 

Had he heard what he did? He wished to choke, to fling himself to space and freeze in eternal cold. A cold that would sing him ballads of death's counterfeit. He could not face her. Now, when he should have told her every bit of truth and tottering step; he never should have waited for her discovery. Yet a small voice within his head whispered, "Obi-wan, it was not your place." 

"I saw him, Master Kenobi. He is alive…yet lost. So lost, Obi-wan." Her features crumped slightly, but her noble upbringing lessened the feat to cinders. "You would not think…nor envision a tragedy such as this." 

She was silent. Liquid filled the crevice in her eyes, slowly draining to the reservoir already bursting with effects of a half-year. The sorrow creeped with long, spindly fingers, to her cheeks, to her mouth, to her eyes. It did nothing to diminish her beauty and she still stood at beauty's play, furnishing the heroine's part. But the sheen of remorse took hold of him and he perceived the ill-favored sight of her grief. She did not cry, and she gave him a glassy stare, telling him with her eyes what her heart could not: support the conflagration of tearful embers. 

It was then that Obi-wan pleaded, "Weep, my lady. You must." 

She did, yet quietly. More's the pain, he thought. And he gritted his teeth at the searing quality of the dagger. 

Tears flung from her eyes and to her cheeks, and then to her knees, as they would kneel to her sorrow. 

"Oh, my lady. Of this, I will forever be in anguish," he said, wringing his hands. 

They fell to his lap, where his white tunic and coarse, brown robe mingled to one, ceaseless waterfall of cloth. Clothing seemed more of a burden now, than a way to warmth. He wished to put his feeble raiment on her, that she may find repose in his office, in his noble work. Her place, however, was with the people. To touch them as Jedi could not. 

She knew his fault in bringing the young Skywalker to the light only to discern the opposite. He was afraid to comfort her. That in embracing her, he would give her reason to find more water to feed her tears. He had taught Anakin Skywalker. He held a part of the young Padawan and perhaps, in his touch, would embitter her already fragile heart. 

But there she sat, her hands clasped together in respite, convulsing with suffering he could not match. The children, too, would be weeping. They would hear her, through the walls of flesh and bone. Her grief would travel then, through vibrations of the inner world. 

Obi-wan could not leave their mother to dower her burden. He took her by her arms arms and slowly, oh so agonizingly, he made her stand. That he may be able to cradle her like a babe, like a small child, shivering, trembling in the cold. Her orphan nature bent his greed, and he wept as he would for a daughter, for a child. For she was so like a child, when the world needed her to be such, when she was alone. He stroked her satin hair, with the reverence of the seamstress; he wiped her cheeks and blessed her forehead with warm caresses. The kindness of his hand scorched her skin and made her remember, that she was still alive. That those within her, prayed for flowers to grow, where only rocks and pebbles remained. 

Like a faltering twig in a gale, she bent to him as a weed would seek for shelter in the shades of the oak. His hand held her head to his chest. He felt the tears soak his robe. Let it, he thought. Only then, will he be cleansed of his pride. 

"I apologize, my lady. I am...at fault." 

"There's nothing to forgive, Obi-wan," she managed to say between sobs. "The pain's…my own." At that, she was able to smile up at him and it seemed that the curtain of the tragedy had sprung aside. "I chose this path and I knew it would lead to this." 

"Yet still…I did not know the path it would take. I was proud...too proud, and he fell for it. He wandered..." But he could not continue. 

She was plunged into fire and ice and could not judge…if she should die of one or the other. 

__________ 

**-The End-**


	3. Line the Rebel

**Title:** _Line the Rebel_   
**Author:** AsianScaper   
**Disclaimer:** Star Wars belongs to George Lucas.   
**Rating:** G   
**Category:** Drama   
**Spoilers:** None   
**Feedback:** Friends, enemies: Send your comments or constructive criticism to asianscaper@edsamail.com.ph. Advice is highly sought after!   
**Summary:** Sequel to 'Fire and Ice". Obi-wan and Padme arrive in Ethmun.   
**Archiving:** Just email me the URL to allow me a peek.   
**Dedication:** To Alison AGAIN, who insisted on a sequel and eventually inspired it. Love you lots, girl!   
**Author's Note:** Another vile experiment on my writing style. Tell me what you think! The title was inspired by a phrase from Macbeth. 

__________

  
**Part VIII.**

Crystals drowned the skies with falling torches; precipitation akin to rain though never accepted by coarse, granular silica, already bright and heavy from the sun's influence. Sky and cloud did not lie together on a bed of sapphire. Water's lack choked the steam from the clouds and only small patches of what could have been rain, flew past like desert eagles in a parched, choked, and isolated land. The sky was black, as if the sun had fled to spit tar on this planet's repulsive face. 

Ethmun was much like Tatooine, though dunes did not rise here as they did in the desert planet. The maker's hand assembled one place infinitely saturated with sand in seamless scopes while the other was confined to a hellish scheme of coarse powder against jutting, featureless stone. 

Volcanic rock reached up to the transport, black and forged from the the hot inner core of the planet. The heated tread of magma pierced their eyeballs and a flowing river of granules greeted their first landing. 

"None too homely," Obi-wan muttered, as his robe was caught in a harsh zephyr and his face was scratched curiously by flying grains of soil. His beard was awash with dirt before he could protect himself from the onslaught. 

"Better than our state of mind," Padmé offered in turn. 

Smiling, they pulled their hoods over their heads, their hands tight around their persons. It was not cold but the wind brought all else to a howling, unrecognizable blur. They had to shout to each other to overwhelm the din. 

"I cannot believe that council will be held in such a noisy, inhospitable place," Obi-wan quipped. 

Checking his hip for his lightsaber, he carefully led the way for Padmé and her escort, watchful with both the Force and his oftentimes unreliable senses. Sand and soil made way for his feet and he could hear the crunch and beat of his toes against loam. 

"But I feel a disturbance that I ought not to ignore," he added to himself, helping the senator over a small ledge and into the facility just beyond the small port. 

The door hissed open and he stopped by the gate to allow the ladies to enter first. Her personal guard entered before he did and once everybody was robbed of noise and dirt, he took another glance outside, cautious in his observations. The sand was getting to his eyes and beginning to deface his cheeks. He looked up, found nothing but the cruel darkness and the slight twinkle of stars trying to endure the perpetual squall. 

The stillness was alarming when he finally stepped in and shed the sand in his ears, in his hair. To travel from one foul state to one of neutrality made his hackles rise. 

Shoving the grime vigorously from his robe and trying to be presentable, he took his time studying his surroundings. It was a white, humming interior though the corridors had begun to age despite the recent polish. Perhaps it was from the abuse of the outside world, having been transported from the looks of those who spent too much time outdoors. The facility was dug into the rock, and was sheltered from the storms outside. Ventilation filled their ears with a distant complaint, a grumble of air. There was no evidence of wind, only the soft whir of machinery. 

A droid walked past them, its screws and parts creating a jolly mix of gold and silver and producing the rythmic jig on a titanium bulkhead. It was a protocol droid and its golden eyes jerked to them, in honest regard. The innate good of objects made to serve had a good aesthetic appeal to the sanitary feel of the base. 

It said to Padmé in a languid voice, "Good day to you, Senator Amidala." Its head lurched towards Obi-wan. "And to you, Master Jedi." 

"Good day," he returned. 

It was then that the earth chose to move and the droid tottered idly, while it persevered to leave. 

Ethmun was a young planet, Obi-wan thought. He could still feel the daring it possessed while shoving its plates aside and in. 

"The planet was an excellent choice," he told Padmé. 

"Which is why we chose it." 

"Good girl." She did not bother to congratulate herself at his fawning tone. "But I have to tell you, I feel ill at ease." 

Padmé stopped their promenade in the middle of the hall, suddenly wary. Her personal guard stood clustered around her, protective, vigilant, their fingers jittery. 

A few passing personnel, gave them inquiring looks, and the fire in Obi-wan's eyes matching Padmé's own beleaguered their dutiful strolls. They rightfully ignored them and many gave a look…then passed unnoticed. "What pinches your insides, Master Kenobi?" 

"The weather, the youth, and the unforeseen quality of this place. An excellent target and habitation for the minions of dark," he whispered. Her handmaids, he knew, were listening. Better than evil ears spying on the deaf pillows of good. 

"We all have our reservations, Master Kenobi." 

They resumed walking. Despite her present state, she managed to match their pace foot by foot. It was she who eventually set the harried mood and the pace slowed a bit. 

"Be careful, my lady." 

"I will." 

He was skeptical, knowing that she would rather sacrifice her own life for another rather than forfeit those who were dedicated to the task. 

He stopped by her quarters. As the doors slid open, he bowed delicately to her. "I shall see you in council, Senator." 

"As I, you. Good day, Obi-wan," she said, taking his cheek and patting it affectionately. "Be well. Do not worry so much for me." 

"Oh, but I do. I owe it to myself and to another we once loved." 

That put a thorn in her gaiety and she bled water to her eye. He wiped the tear as it fell, lonely, in a gesture of friendship, of warmth; a requiem of sunny days when brought to nightfall's shelter. "Farewell, for now." 

Then she was gone. 

*** 

**Part IX.**

"Ethmun." 

He tried to taste the name on his lips. Tasting was a sense lost to him and only words held texture to entertain his mouth. The syllables left a bitter, malignant cyst just east of his tongue. 

"The youngest planet of the Rassimer system, my lord," an aide told him, with a voice rising close to a shriek. His hair hidden in a cap, the insigna of his rank glinting with fervor, yet his face was demarcated from the rest of his intentions to be confident and concise. "Intelligence affirms that the leaders of this new rebellion will assemble in Ethmun. A base was built there a few months ago, in haste, I should think." 

"Which you overlooked," Vader inserted, rather ominously. 

The fellow trembled from head to toe. "Y-yes, my lord." 

Movement made the aide leap in surprise. A fist accused him from the sides of the dark lord, menacingly clenching, like claws. 

"Prices to pay," the lord muttered through the device covering his teeth. 

The dark lord had waved a hand to dismiss the revenant storm haunting him. One from Jes'Dameer, another from Sassanoth. 

The aide took three steps from whence he stood. 

_Reap the fields, the crop of lives._

Anakin's armor caged him from the world such that his ward was futile. There in that prison like a bird, he would be fed, nurtured, and then looked upon like an animal. For he was not a man. The bread of gloom would nourish him and its crumbs would fall to his feet. 

_Everything would fall to my feet. I will not fail, not again._

Laughter echoed idly within his mind. 

The wind his motion created beneath his fingers made him silent for the while. Why was he to able to feel the wrath made by his own hand and not the other exaggerated forms outside his circle of creation? Perhaps it was why he caused pain, that he may be insensate to it. That in burning his skin to blisters, he may not feel the heat. 

His fingers tightened and the aide began to choke as invisible hands took him by his throat. "M-my lord…" he sputtered as saliva fell from the sides of his mouth. The man sank to his knees, clawing at his neck aimlessly, desperate in retreat. 

Anakin frowned. Ah, was he wielding the sheath from the sword? Was that a tortuous concession beneath the grimace? A participation in fear? Grief? 

Satisfied with the way the man's face ruffled to folds of agony, Vader loosened his grip and stood. Let them know me, he thought darkly. Only when the man's eyes pleaded for life, did he finally give him liberty. 

"Do not fail me again, Commander." 

The aide only nodded, relieved to be dismissed of his fault. Staggering to his post, the man began to speak once more, as was his first vocation. His tongue stumbled and choked on its own juice. 

"Our infiltrators…have detected more than two hundred authorities from over…a h-hundred worlds congregating within, m-my lord." 

The silence summoned from the recesses of Anakin's stern request, settled more sweat on the man's forehead. He began to literally shine under the dim light. 

_Sweat._ Sweet to look at, for toil. Bitter to bear, for fright. 

Anakin breathed deeply. The machinery rumbled as his intake of breath disturbed the mandibles of technology. Again, the aide looked as if he were willing to throw himself to the floor rather than face this munificent patron of depravity. 

Of course, the Dark Lord of the Sith would not allow such a senseless, wasteful act. 

"Set a course for Rassimer," he said. 

"Yes, Lord Vader, a-as you command." 

"Hold yourself together, man," was his quiet rebuke. "You have much to endure." 

*** 

**Part X.**

The tall, grinning mounts held up the sky by their tattered forms, imposing and ever-watchful of the grim chime of the stars. For every twinkle, there was a streak of severe lightning, wounding the heavens that as it flashed, the black sky bled a color of swelling blue. 

It was a mindful reminder of the powers that were. A glint, a shimmer, a peek of intelligence that shot the suns into silent eclipses round the center of the galaxy. 

"Do you not think it interesting," Obi-wan told his young companion, "that we alter the evolution of this world, its growth, just by stepping on it, by looking on it, by merely knowing it's there?" He breathed the air of the solarium. It was heavy with the smell of Sambo peaches; a hint of honey mixed with cinnamon. A fairy prance with glittering, tasty, fairy dust to coat one's lips in. "We terminate lives as we walk, make them as we lift our feet from the earth. Don't you find it strange? That whoever found us in clay would allow us to draw the syllables ourselves?" 

"I think it is fitting. Our freedom calls for the responsibility in shaping other's paths as well as our own," his companion returned. 

Padmé was a belligerent lady in matters that shook the foundations of nature, essence, and elusive wheels that moved their joints. In her passion, her answers were sincere and true. The better teachers lay their skill in that ability, to make simple what was profound, for those who look into the glass, would perceive every notion of sculpture and paint. 

Obi-wan accepted with a nod and a humble grunt. "You learn many things when you are a Jedi," he mumbled. 

The lady laughed, a skulking ray of light in a fen. It was enough to cheer him. Such was her beauty, both in and out. 

"There is much to teach when the galaxy bears the rhythm of your feet," she countered, as the fair lacework of her head-dress marked the gentle curve of her temple, the slight dip of her cheek as it worried for the loss of another. 

"True." 

The friends of old sat there within that observatory, seeking shelter in fell hills of gray and black. Those colors mounted the shades to their palette of emotions and one, no stronger than melancholy. But…a flash of lightning here, a rumble of thunder there, and hope was in every kiss of light, bright misery in every howling turn of the clashing gods above. 

Though they waited, old Grathus came lumbering by in his cane, his silvery curls falling gently down the sides of his face, like daughters cradling their father. His rich beard was oddly thick, though thin in every individual strand; like a colony of the peasantry all starving yet strong in numbers. Poor Grathus had lost everything and his stride stood empty but his eyes were bright. 

"Well, well," he said in upbraiding tones. There was humor in his heavy lean and his cane seemed an instrument for clowns as he grinned. "What brings you to this desolate place, in such an odd hour?" 

"Meditation," Obi-wan said. 

Grathus blinked as if a veil had hid the Knight. 

"Ah, Master Jedi. What an honor!" His face fell. "I am…very sorry for the losses the Order has endured for this cause. I hear that a few have arrived from hiding." Grathus took a seat adjacent to them, tracing the history of their gazes as he, too, meshed his sight with the landscape around him. "And you, my lady," he told Padmé. "Though you are young, your actions have been commendable. I do hope you are well, both for the children and yourself. Yet most of all, for the rest of us." 

"Thank you, old Grathus," Padmé affectionately acknowledged. "What brings you here? Old age doesn't vie well with stringent spectacles." 

"Same reason you do. To find hope, which I should think you have. There's light in both of you, more so with this young woman." Grathus chuckled. He stroked his cane; a blind man wandering through the wood with his touch, to perceive every cranny. 

Obi-wan supposed that the old man would know the difference between his cane and another just like it. It was a familiar touch, the caress of the engineer when his blueprint resigns for reality. One that he himself once had. 

_My Padawan. Where are you, you little devil?_

Was he teasing a festering rage? 

Perhaps not. He cared. Too much that even when the boy turned to shades of gray, Obi-wan was willing to cross every orifice for his sake, to change the spectrum, the lineage of color to those of light. Yet would he listen? Perhaps not. 

_Oh, but he would_, Obi-wan told himself. How could he have shared what he did with beautiful Padmé? 

The woman was speaking now, sparring words with the old senator. 

"More's the blight, Senator Grathus, if we cannot negotiate," she told him. 

"Oh, more's the blight, my dear, if we let this Sith Lord destroy every pillar of faith. Blood has always been traded for peace; a sacrifice on the altar, if you will." 

Padmé raised a brow and her teeth showed in an accusing smile. "What then, if the citizens have no blood to call their own, having been bled bare on the very path you speak of?" 

"Oh me!" the old Grathus exclaimed, laughing. "In the older the days…it was simpler." 

"You can shine light on even the deepest fissures of the earth. All you need is courage, a candle, and yourself. Then brave the caverns." 

"An ideal, I should think , that we ought to strive for. But men get old swiftly. You make it sound so simple, Senator Amidala." Grathus coughed slightly to put his point across. 

"Oh, but it is. Peace is peace. You cannot buy it with war. But people bribe the quality of courage with tales of glory. So they fight, valiantly. Why else are heroes made in battle fields?" She did not wait for an answer. 

For the alarms had sounded. 

Old Grathus deposited a curse in the solarium, and another on his way out, making a trail down the corridor as he quickly assembled his parts to retreat to safety. 

Padmé now stood, grabbing hold of a man running across the solarium to the command deck beyond and demanded, "What is happening?" 

"My lady, a Star Destroyer has been detected," the officer huffed between breaths, "having jumped from hyperspace to the outer reaches of the system." She let go of the man and he gratefully bowed, running off as quickly as he had come. 

Silence. 

_Hope. Faith. Love._

Themes of the hour. Thunder rose. Lightning cackled. The light seared their senses. 

"He's giving us time," Obi-wan whispered. 

The look Padmé gave him was one that put the jagged edges of his heart together. It gave him strength to feel the lighsaber beneath his hand and memorize the sacrifice on it. Oh, all was not in vain! Responsibility held the expedition! 

"Escape, my lady," he pleaded. The susurration of his lips, warm, untainted, trembling. His eyes ached; grief had long been purged. The pool of his soul's window was suddenly empty of what he thought was once its essence. "While you can, Padmé. For the children. For yourself. For him." 

She fled. 

_Only in the beginning._

A prayer. 

  
  
  
The children were safe. 

__________ 

**-The End-**


	4. Momentary Pause

**Title:** _Momentary Pause_   
**Author:** AsianScaper   
**Disclaimer:** Star Wars belongs to George Lucas.   
**Rating:** G   
**Category:** Drama   
**Spoilers:** None   
**Feedback:** Friends, enemies: Send your comments or constructive criticism to asianscaper@edsamail.com.ph. Advice is highly sought after!   
**Summary:** Courage in the flight of one, hope in the path of another.   
**Archiving:** Just email me the URL to allow me a peek.   
**Dedication:** To the highschool gals. MUAH!   
**Author's Note:** Another vile experiment on my writing style. Tell me what you think! 

__________

  
**Part XI.**

Bleak. Eternal. Utterly immense that as he looked, he felt his heart, his mood, his gentle disposition fade away into insignificance. So he began to talk in hurried tones that his companion, watchful yet never content, eyed him suspiciously. 

"Are you afraid Obi-wan?" 

He cowered beneath that gaze, so dark and beautiful and so very young! It shimmered with wisdom squeezed from grief. Then, within the soft serenity of her eyes, he was silenced. 

Nonetheless, he asked, "Why do you ask?" 

"I am, Master Kenobi, very much afraid." 

He perused the sincerity on her face and he admired her all the more when she showed the first flickering of courage. So he said, "Well then, I am too." 

He lifted a hand and his sleeve fell away to reveal the elongated silver handle of his lightsaber. It glinted against the twin suns and his senses converged into heat. Hearing the weapon click safely at his side, his other hand sheltered his face as he peered past the dancing lines of a landscape drawn by warmth. 

"This is…rather discouraging, my lady," he said, his boots sinking into sand as they climbed up the side of a dune. 

"Wasn't it you who always said to see beyond the senses? Don't prove me wrong now, Master Jedi." But he could see she was jesting for her smile tugged about the gentle slopes of her lips, capering about the shadows of her cowl. 

"I'd love to, if that's any consolation," he returned, not at all uneasy at the familiar tone of voice. His complaint was lost to the howl of the desert when he sank deeper into the ground. "Grathus could have chosen a more beguiling spot." 

"He's a good old man, Obi-wan." 

"And a little rough at the edges, too, my lady." 

"You're insufferable!" 

The crunch of granular silica mended their boots into waking and soon, a steady rhythm beat itself mercilessly into their soles. Obi-wan dared not stop for if he did, he would have grappled with thoughts of thirst. 

Padmé tapped his boot from below him as the slope became steeper. A breeze cast the brief flare of their cloaks, turning to banners shouting in the wind. "Sometimes, I could almost believe that you're not as old as you look, Obi-wan. You really could snivel." 

"Oh, what a compliment, my lady." By then, they had topped the mound of sand and they gazed about like lost mariners in the middle of an extensive sea of gold. But the treasure in it was lost in the dread filling both their hearts. "And what a dreary garden we've walked into." 

"Think of it as a plain of honey," she said, encouraging him to think similarly when she clambered to his side, a pleasant flicker of hope in her eye. Then she also added, as a clear confession of her plight without malice or heart, "It was, once, when the few lived here as they did." 

He turned to her and found the cloth of her hood hiding a face, which would have crumpled briefly yet regained all composure in an instant. 

"The few," he muttered half to himself. He was still looking at her when she moved her head a bit, as if in contemplation of the scene. All there was for him to see was a tanned cheek and there atop it sat a drop of moisture, reveling at exposure. 

Obi-wan endeavored to look ahead. "I hope that old devil finds us before the Imperium does." 

"Oh, he will." 

Her voice did not tremble, nor did it crack, nor did it show a hint of sadness. Wonder marked Obi-wan's expression as he said, "I'll take your word for it, my lady, and hope on your hope." 

*** 

They hardly recognized him then, covered in soot, his beard sprinkled with large splashes of white, his eyes frightful yet intense. His face scrambled behind a ragged hood, while his feet sprang from one position to another, afraid that if he were to stand still, the ground would open up beneath him. 

Padmé felt increasing pity for Grathus; he seemed less than he was, his face sporting an angry scar that looked far from mended. But when he grabbed them into a dark, stinking corner in Mos Eisley, she could see the brave warrior staring at her in disbelief. Had he expected them to be dead? 

"Yes!" Grathus hissed, pulling them closer. 

Padmé could tell that the old man was seething with barely hidden terror. She could smell it even as he led them. His eyes darted behind them and then, behind him, as if half expecting a mob of soldiers to grab him by the neck. He had good reason to feel that way, Padmé thought later on. 

"Are there any survivors?" Padmé asked, softly, so that she would not agitate him to silence. 

"Last I've heard, they killed thirteen Jedi before I could escape." Grathus swallowed and the act seemed difficult for him. His scar writhed, angry and red. "I was injured when one of them tried to save me. Oh, bless his soul!" 

Obi-wan stole a glance at Padmé, shrugging. "Why did you bring us here, Grathus?" 

"I have a message, that's all. I'd beg you to take me with you, but I'd rather die this time around. So many lives for our sake…" His gaze fell on the woman senator and there was accusation there, pity, and incredible faith. "For _your_ sake, woman. Yours! Use those lives wisely!" 

From beneath his cloak, he produced a small data cube. "What's left of the Jedi would have you read this, Obi-wan. For you m'lady, we've given quite enough." He shook his head, regretting his words, as if they had left his tongue in a hurry. "Our hope lies in you. All our hope! Remember the solarium!" 

Then he broke free and ran. They let him go, of course. Let them walk their own paths, Padmé told herself. So many things left undone, by her and by so many more. She could not lay the blame solely on herself or on the commands that destiny left her. 

Obi-wan looked at the cube in earnest, turning it in his palm as it shimmered silver, then black, then silver again. "Well, this is something. Orders? Battle plans? I hope it's something we can do." 

Nodding her sympathy, Padmé disconsolately held her handgun. "We better get out of here soon. It'll be flooding with Imperials by the time we leave the city." 

"Agreed. Come along, my lady, this way." He smiled at her, the bend of it encouraging. Then, pulling his hood over his head and taking her hand, they strolled along the thoroughfare of sand with barely a backward glance. 

*** 

**Part XII.**

_Pain's apparition._

Blue eyes reached for the distant expanse of reality, his vigilance grabbed by the sounds of his bridge, by the mantle of anxiety and adrenaline as shouts pierced through the metal bulkheads in intermittent bursts. 

"Commander, report." 

"My lord!" The man turned from his station, eager though grim, a sign of maturity and dangerous health. "The ground troops have been deployed. Fifteen Jedi slain." His uniform was newly pressed and his pips glinted with polish. But it was the news Darth Vader was interested in. 

Fifteen stars plucked from the heavens. Fifteen rays of light ready to shine on his cloak. 

"Good. Captives?" 

For reasons even he could not begin to contemplate, his heart tightened for the words, limited in its cage as it waited. 

"Roughly nine transports escaped through hyperspace even before we reached the planet, my lord. We were able to track five though the rest are untraceable. We have captives, sire, many of which were executed for resisting." 

If hearts thrashed, it did in his. Vader frowned beneath his helmet, thankful, almost, for the concealment and hypocrisy of kindness found below. It did not sit well with him that the world chose such cruel words. Perhaps he would never know… 

_Autumns in Naboo… _

…her face… 

The officer paused and Darth Vader could see that this man was weighing one fact within the scales of right and wrong. "What else is there?" he demanded quietly. An edge of impatience chose the trembling of his tongue yet he surpassed it, with a gaze that made his servant rigid. 

Vader admired this man's aplomb when he merely blinked, staring for a moment before saying, "And there was a transmission, my lord, from a Master Yoda, encoded for you." 

Vader remained impassive, his mind mirrored by the black swirl of ambiguous material, his helmet's composition. His silence extended considerably until he noticed the twitch of the other's hand. 

Ah, not as cool as was perceived? He would not bother to know this one's name. 

"I shall take it from my console, Commander. Finish off the rest of this Rebellion." It was a bitter word, webbed in outlines of sweet ideas from a sweet mind. 

Melancholy grabbed him then, and he did not hear the officer's zealous, "Yes, my lord Vader." The klaxons screamed above Vader's helmet, knocking on metal, insistent.. 

Standing, he chose his way through the many corridors of his ship, resting only when he came to his quarters. Then, in an act that frightened even him, his gloved hand pushed commands into the console. The view screen came to life. 

_"A message encoded this is, for a young Skywalker…"_

*** 

In another corner in the galaxy... 

Perhaps he should wait. In silence. And remember the days finer than this when he survived the onslaught of races, the grave dismemberment of parts that had ensued. It was so much easier to forget and so very painful to remember. To throw away the misguided letter rather than read it; to release it to memory's forgetting. Too easy. 

His diminutive hands clutched the lightsaber. Tighter and tighter until his skin turned the lighter shade of green, when suns shone through the canopy of trees. But the gentle hum of birds brought his thoughts to pause. For the first time in three days, the Jedi Master smiled softly, welcoming the sounds. As though they held the secrets of life's enduring cycle. 

Sighing, he allowed his small feet to pierce the muddied ground. Realizing the significance of this, he opened his senses and felt, rather than saw, the ancient goodness of this place despite its crude exterior. For that was how the wisest overcame vanity, by masking their path with simplicity. The mud sought refuge between his toes and soon, the Jedi was laughing at the top of his lungs, tickled to ease. 

How wonderful it was, to release the airs of joy for a place that seemed to abandon all attempts at order. But in every overhanging canopy of sad, drooping lichen, order made do with the frail walk of breezes that touched the marshes. And caressed, and drove fear, and made him peaceful. 

"Hmmm," he said to himself, tapping his chin and squinting to see the idea forming within. "For my sake, build I shall. Then wait." He chuckled. "Yes, wait I shall, too." 

He disappeared behind an elderly tree, his cane splashing through the marsh, sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly. But it was a cheerful sound and peaceful besides. 

The lightsaber's last hurrah sparkled as it disappeared beneath his cloak. 

__________ 

**-The End-**


End file.
